


Ceraunophilia

by PaintedLily22



Series: Out of the Ashes [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Bucky Barnes deserves all the tea and blankets he wants, Fluff, Its barely Stucky at all, Recovery, more like if you read it that way or not, tiny fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-09-15
Packaged: 2018-12-29 23:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 494
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12096015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PaintedLily22/pseuds/PaintedLily22
Summary: Ceraunophilia•	(noun) With greek origins, ceraunophilia is defined as a deep love of thunder and lightning. It also connotes the idea of finding both intensely beautiful.•	etymology: from Greek keraunos, “thunder and lightning”





	Ceraunophilia

Thunder storms were beautiful; the way they boomed across the sky, giant, unyielding forces that couldn’t be stopped. They were an inevitable, looming, terrible beauty that was all-powerful and righteous. Clouds swirling and undulating, billowing as their molecules grew heavier with the promise of release upon the earth.  
   
There was nothing that could make New York stop like a thunderstorm. Not even the snow could dissuade the window shoppers and coffee house regulars from braving the white-covered streets. No- a place like New York would only stop for the color-draining blackness of a thunderstorm. It was the unbounded moment of stillness in between the flash of electricity streaking down to touch the soil and brick, and the reverberating boom that caused the pause- the only form of danger that every single being, both human and animal, paused to collectively anticipate.  
   
That is what Bucky thought as he sat curled up in the biggest armchair he could find in Stark Tower. That still moment of raw power was his favorite- always had been—he remembered that. Though he couldn’t smell the humid air from the storm outside, he could remember the smell almost perfectly. The Brooklyn air that was so similar to now, the cold and damp forests in Germany and France, and the Russian rain as it transitioned from water droplets to ice bullets—he remembered the difference, the sweetness of each of them through his cracked memory. Thunderstorms were always a moment of space, of peace, even when he didn’t know what it meant or why it was happening, only comply comply comply.  
   
Not anymore, though. Now, he could sit in this chair and watch the dark clouds swelling across the evening sky, blurring the line between night and day, blackness encroaching faster than ordinary. He could stay wrapped in this blanket and his own hoodie while the lightning struck the lightning rods on top of the nearby buildings, as the storm slowly skulked across the sky. Now, he could enjoy the warmth from the cup of tea he held seeping into his flesh fingers, warming them despite the brewing storm outside.  
   
The skyline was starting to disappear into the grey scale rain, but for the first time is a long time, Bucky wasn’t worried. He knew that there were people downstairs who weren’t afraid of him, who were filled with light and kind-hearted humanity. They knew how to laugh, and their warmth had become infectious. He knew that one of them in particular would stop whatever he was doing with the others, and join him to curl up and share the warmth of the blanket, should he ask him too. But he won't- not right now at least.  
   
For now, Bucky was content to sit and watch as the other buildings of the New York skyline started to disappear along with the sky, merging with the clouds, swallowed up by sheets of rain as the clouds gradually came closer to Stark tower.


End file.
